


Come What Mae

by HisAsgardianAngel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: #Fuck the Chantry, Anders Lives, Anders Needs a Hug, Anders Positive, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Babies, Beards (Facial Hair), Blackwall Smut, Blackwall Spoilers, Blood Magic, City Elf Origin, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Dalish Lore, Dalish Sexuality, Elf Culture & Customs, Elf-Blooded Children, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Elven Alienages, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grey Wardens, I should probably have romanced Solas with a moto like that but whatever, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Lavellan Backstory, Mage Rebellion, Mage Rights, Mages and Templars, Minor Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Minor Anders/Hawke, Parent Blackwall, Parent Lavellan, Plot Twists, Pregnant Lavellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAsgardianAngel/pseuds/HisAsgardianAngel
Summary: As the Inquisition begins to rise with a very new, very Elven leader, they catch the eye of Gordon Blackwall, a Grey Warden from the Free Marches. As he and the Inquisitor get cozy, the world around them literally begins to fall apart. Through battling demons, darkspawn, and a blessed little accident, the two must overcome every obstacle thrown at them if they want to come out of this thing alive...and to protect that little accident created one drunken night in the barn? They'd damn well give everything. Maybe they will.(And yes, the title is a pun dealing with the song "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge and the name of my inquisitor, don't judge me xD)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SonyaBlackmane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyaBlackmane/gifts).



Warden Constable Blackwall was slaving in the hot Hinterlands sun. He pulled his long obsidian locks from his sweaty face and grimaced at the day's work. It was no good; this wasn't going to be enough firewood to last the coming winter. It may have been a hot day in Ferelden, but the snow fall was as unpredictable as the Great Game of the Orlesian Nobility. Beads of sweat rolled down his sinewy muscles, dripping off of his chest hair and glistening like dew on fresh morning grass. It was most unfortunate that he'd be spending another harsh holiday season alone, though he supposed it was for the better. He did not deserve the love of another after everything that had become of his life. He sighed at the thought. Glancing once more at the wood he'd been chopping, he had the sudden resolve to send the majority to the refugees on the Outskirts.

"That's what I'll do. I can manage without." He mumbled to himself, dismissing to take a much-needed shower before it would be time for lunch. He disrobed himself from the bottom down, freeing himself from the rough confines of his trousers and welcoming the cool of water against his hot skin. Washing the grime from his tresses and beard, he hummed quietly to himself, a chantry hymn passing his lips as his mind clung to every wrong he wished he could redeem.

"Bare your blade and raise it high, stand your ground, the dawn will come. The night is long and the path is dark, look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come—" He stopped abruptly, jerking the shower nozzle hard to turn it off as he heard a commotion outside. He slipped into his armor quickly, strapping a shield to his back and shaking his head around profusely to loosen the dampness as he barreled back out into the heat.

"What in the name of—" He paused once more, looking on a bunch of frightened boys clamoring around his dwelling. They looked awful, the lot of them; some angry, some sad…all terrified. Blackwall sighed to himself. Goddamn bandits never took a rest, did they?

"Were you attacked?" He asked calmly, not waiting for an answer as he grabbed a bunch of old equipment he used for recruiting purposes and smoothly throwing them at the young lads. He oozed a sort of manly, military aura; no doubt a mark left over from his time with the Orlesian Army. He was in his element now more than ever. He paced before the men, waiting for the answer that never came.

"Looters, was it? Speak up. You don't look wounded, not a one of you. I assume you or your loved ones were robbed, otherwise you wouldn't be barking up my tree like a bunch of sniveling cowards. But know this, you've come to the wrong Warden if you expect me to take your belongings back for you, you'll have to work for it." He ordered sternly, watching proudly as the young men stood a little straighter and adjusted the gifted armor that now crested their bodies. Young men should be able to protect their families, that he firmly believed. If no one had taught these lads…well, they were going to learn today. Blackwall took pleasure in helping people in any way he could, it was the only thing that made living a lie bearable.

As he instructed, his new conscripts followed his lead without much complaint. They were good men, the warden could tell, and each of them eager to learn from a man they thought to be of such high stature among the Order. Blackwall could lose himself in the training of good conscripts, good candidates for the soldiers he respected so deeply. Nothing in his life made him happier. At least not yet. He was not yet aware of the distraction galloping his way…the red-headed, slender figured apostate on horseback riding to take him away from this life, this guilt; well that was something that rather sort of snuck up on him. Literally.

"Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?" The loveliest voice called out to him, a sweet, Marcher accent ringing in the wind. It was enough to make the warden's hair stand on end as he turned to find the source of such a beautiful sound. He instantly wished he'd done so earlier. The woman…she was elven. Dalish from the looks of it. Her skin was fair, eyes large and exquisitely green. The vallaslin stained upon her face was as red as her hair, and of beautiful design, though he knew not what it stood for. And last but not least those lips, the elf had lips more kissable than he'd seen on a woman in a long time; plump, pink, pouty. Blackwall shook his head of these thoughts, shooting her a quizzical look.

"You're not—how do you know my name? Who sent—" Blackwall grunted as he pulled his shield up to cover his face, narrowly blocking an arrow as it whizzed by. Looked like those bandits had come to finish their good work.

"Help or get out." He grumbled, perhaps harsher than he meant to, signaling for his conscripts to demonstrate what they'd learned. He'd taught them well in what little time he'd had, but what was surprising was that this elf brought more to the table than just good looks and a horse. She seemed to pull a staff from nowhere, flames at her disposal in a matter of moments. She was a mage, and a skilled one from what he could see, as she had most of the bandits wrapped in flames and screaming like children with a mere blink of the eye. In her company was another elf, also a mage, a dwarf with a crossbow, and an important looking woman with a sword bigger than his own. When at last the battle was over, he turned to his men and waved them off, telling them to take back what was stolen from them and get back to their families they'd earned it. He'd perhaps liked to have actually talked to a few of them about the Order, but right now this feisty little Dalish girl seemed more important. What did she want? Where did she come from?

"You're no farmer, why do you know my name? Who are you?" He asked curiously, watching as the midday sun seemed to sparkle in those green eyes. She was quite beautiful. Serene.

"I know your name because I'm an agent of the inquisition. I'm here to investigate whether or not the disappearance of wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine." She spoke with authority, a kind but stern tone. It was very becoming.

"Maker's balls, the wardens and the Divine can't…no, you're asking so you don't really know. First off, I didn't know they disappeared, but we do that, right? No more blight, job done, wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you, no warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political." Her thin, perfectly arched eyebrows knitted together in confusion. It was sort of cute.

"Then where are the rest of you?" Curious one, wasn't she?

"I haven't seen any wardens for months; I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there is no blight coming. Treaties give wardens the right to take what we need, who we need, these idiots forced this fight so I conscripted their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won't need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are." He hadn't meant to ramble on so, but she didn't seem to lose interest, which surprised him. He usually had a difficult time holding a woman's attention. He wasn't a very interesting man and she…well, she seemed to keep most interesting company.

"Well thank you, Warden Blackwall, but now where does this leave us?" She sounded a little discouraged, flirty even, as she began to walk away. It bewildered him…why would she go and say a thing like that? What did it mean? He stared after her as she went, a strong need to make her stay welling up inside of him. This woman was fascinating. He was aching to find out what the hell was going on.

"Inquisition…agent, did you say? Hold a moment. The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these…thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're evolved. If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a warden. Maybe you need…me." Blackwall wanted to punch himself in the bloody face…what was that last sentence? She was going to think him desperate or worse. To his surprise, she grinned, nodding at him happily with a conviction that was confident…radiant, even.

"Warden Blackwall, the inquisition accepts your offer." Maker…she'd wanted that. He'd played right in to it. Even still, something about this felt right. Perhaps he could do more good with an organization like that than he could out in the wilderness right now.

"Good to hear. We both need to know what's going on, and perhaps I've been keeping to myself for too long. This warden walks with the inquisition."

Once out of his earshot, the shield maiden turned to the elf with a sly smile painted on her rugged features.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you riled him up." A slight blush tinted the Herald's cheeks, as she mulled over what her companion had said. Not that Warden Blackwall hadn't been attractive…oh, he had been. That build…that body. His beard looked soft to the touch and his pale blue eyes told quite the sad story. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to know him a little better, but she didn't want to admit it so plainly with her elven friend standing so close nearby. Ever since she'd woken in Haven with that mysterious mark upon her hand, the apostate, Solas…he'd seemed to take great interest in her. Indomitable focus he'd said, and she giggled at the thought. What a flirt.

"Oh hush, Cassandra. I was simply being polite." The Seeker laughed smugly, her eyes darting between Solas and their 'Herald of Andraste', who went by the name Namaae.

"Well, if you're that polite with all the men we meet, I dare say the inquisition will be an army before we know it." She teased, though Namaae did not bother to respond. She was slightly embarrassed, flushed. She had not had much contact with men outside of her clan before the Conclave. Only once, when in the Free Marches, had a human male wandered into their camp…and now that she thought about it, the warden had slightly resembled him. Maybe that's where the fancy came from…she'd remembered thinking highly of the man in her youth. He hadn't stuck around long, but by Sylaise he'd been ten times the man any of the suitor's her parents forced on her could have ever been. She crinkled her nose at the thought. She wondered if her joining of the inquisition would get her off the hook, she did not wish to marry the gentle hunter her parents had waiting on her back home. She didn't even want to be the apprentice to the Keeper, she…she just wanted to explore. Not only the lands, but other people, other cultures. She didn't want to be just another Dalish elf the rest of her life.

Namaae Lavellan forced herself from these thoughts as she and her companions headed back to Haven, readying to make plans for the coming arrival of the warden—he'd need a place to stay. Their horses rode through the frostbacks as quickly as possible, and the Herald tried to focus her mind on important things, such as their need to approach either the mages or the Templars. But there was a place, in the back of her mind…a place wandering to the man she hoped would beat them to their destination. Solas and the commander of their small army, Cullen Rutherford, both had eyes for the young elf, that much was obvious. But maybe Namaae didn't want obvious. Maybe she wanted a little challenge…a little mystery…a little warden. She had no idea what was to become of this newfangled alliance, but there was an inkling of attraction between the two of them just then, she'd felt it. And if there was one thing about the Herald that they all knew to be true, it was that she always followed her instincts. She only wished that it didn't get her into nothing but trouble...and trouble, was exactly what was coming.


	2. Chapter 2

Andraste's Herald shivered as her boots kicked the snow around the Tavern at Haven. With a job as important as hers she really supposed she shouldn't be bored, but the waiting was killing her. Namaae had been by the fire, talking to the dwarf, Varric, about the book he'd written on the Champion of Kirkwall, Natalia Hawke. Apparently the Champion was actually romantically involved with the apostate who started the mage rebellion, Anders, and he gave the Herald strict orders not to tell Seeker Pentaghast that he happened to know where the couple had been hiding from the Order all these years. While that was interesting enough, there was only so much Varric was willing to tell about his friend, other than the fact that she had a sister Bethany who was a Grey Warden. She briefly wondered if Blackwall had ever met her.

Warden Blackwall…she'd been waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before she bothered him, and was running out of things to busy herself with. It had been a few days since he joined up with the inquisition, and she didn't want to seem over eager to be in his presence. In the meantime, she'd been busy attempting to gain an audience with the Rebel Mages. She'd met Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeaux, who had invited her to come to Redcliffe Castle for negotiations. Although she'd ended up conferring with a Tevinter Magister, she needed to go back to seal the deal. She felt herself wondering if maybe Blackwall would want to accompany her, though she had no way of knowing if he even supported the rebellion. Let's go find out…she thought to herself, swallowing back her timid nature and walking toward the stables where he appeared to be admiring the Ferelden horses. Namaae's horse, a nice chestnut brown mare she'd affectionately named Ashley, was nuzzling into the warden's hand as he delicately petted her nose. She smiled.

"She's a sweet one, huh? She'll let you pet her all day if you've a mind." Blackwall jumped slightly at her sudden presence, but relaxed when he realized who it was. The kind, fond smile that suddenly crossed his face made the elf inexplicably happy. He smiled the kind of crinkly eyed smile that nearly knocked the breath out of her, neither of them really knowing what to say. She cleared her throat in a fit of bravery.

"You're oddly charming for a man I found wandering the forest." He snorted.

"I always found myself more odd than charming, but I'll take a compliment from a lady. They're hard to come by these days." Namaae couldn't keep the flirtatious smirk off of her face, her body involuntarily leaning toward him in interest. He didn't back away.

"Compliments or ladies?" Blackwall was tempted to grab that slender waist of hers and pull her closer for that comment, though he kept his respectable distance. Her ginger curls were falling from her bun messily, framing her face in the most beautiful way.

"Both!" He teased with a heavy chuckle, feeling his cheeks redden as he continued to admire her from a distance. They were both being awkward as hell, but it was a cute, comfortable sort of awkward. It was hard for either of them to articulate. "So…is there something large and heavy you need moved?" He added, wondering to himself how such a petite woman ever got anything done. The elf was tiny.

"That would be a waste of your particular talents." The genuine interest and curiosity oozing from her demeanor was warming, flattering. She liked him, he could see it in the very way she stood and carried herself around him. He'd seen woman do it a thousand times…around men ten times better than he. He knew he didn't deserve her attention, but Maker…he didn't want it to stop.

"Oh, really?" His voice was raspy, dark, and the suggestive inflection raised goosebumps to her skin immediately. He was going to have to be careful…she was going to jump his bones if he kept talking to her like that.

"You're much better suited to standing in front of dragons while they try to eat you." The look on her face after that came out of her mouth was priceless. He could tell she'd blurted something out on the fly because the was nervous, embarrassed by their banter. Somehow, that was hotter than if she'd kept the banter going. He inched closer to her ever slightly, pleased when she continued to lean in to him.

"I have to say, my lady, you're unlike any woman I've ever met. I'm flattered you'd spend any time with me. I…enjoy your company." The Herald blushed redder than her hair, those gorgeous lips parting as she looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes. Blackwall very delicately reached for her hand, finding her skin to be the softest he'd ever touched. He hummed. "What say you, Lady Herald? Do you enjoy my company as well?" She swallowed hard, attempting to regain her thoughts as they were completely obliterated by the man before her.

"N-Namaae. Please, call me Namaae." Blackwall took that as a good sign. He kissed the back of her hand before releasing it and backing away to give her some much-needed air.

"Is that your name? My word, that's a mouthful. Do Dalish often have long names?" Namaae laughed.

"Oh, you should hear the name of the Keeper. My name is very short by comparison. B-But you may call me whatever you like, of course. If 'Herald' is easier-" Blackwall shook his head.

"Absolutely not. You've trusted me with your name and your name I shall use. What if I were to call you…Mae? Short, sweet, a little easier for an old man like me to remember." He asked gently, hoping he hadn't offended her, as several emotions seemed to cross her face all at once. She mulled the name over in her head for a few moments…Mae…it was technically part of her name after all, and it was something that sounded uniquely…human.

"I love that. No one has ever really given me a nickname before." She breathed, thinking for a moment longer before adding "and you aren't old, Warden Blackwall. I happen to find you quite attractive." That made Blackwall laugh, who was well into his mid-forties. Mistress Lavellan had to be no older than her twenties. He didn't respond, simply giving her a slight bow before sauntering off with a smirk, though Mae stuttered after him, playing with her hands nervously.

"W-Wait! You…you didn't tell me what I might call you in return." She asked nervously. He grinned.

"Call me Gordon, my lady." She blushed again, looking down at her feet timidly.

"Alright, Gordon then. Do you…I don't know, maybe want to go to Redcliffe with me? My advisors have made it clear that we are to make nice with either the mages or the Templars and well I wasn't sure if you would approve of my support of the Rebels…but, that's my choice…if you'd still like to accompany me." Blackwall nodded, hoping his burly beard would hide just how pleased he was to be asked to come with her specifically.

"I'll be there, you can count on me…Mae." With that, he disappeared into the Tavern and left Mae with her thoughts. She ran off toward the chantry, stopping just short of the war room and knocking rapidly on Josephine's door.

"Lady Montilyet? May I speak with you please?" She waited patiently for the ambassador, who was no doubt busy with the Marquis or something. If Blackwall was to accompany her to Redcliffe, she'd have to build the rest of her party strategically. Mae wasn't the best battle strategist, but she knew better than to bring too much of one type of fighter along with her. Blackwall was a Grey Warden, a warrior, and therefore it might not be necessary to bring Seeker Pentaghast along for the ride. Commander Rutherford had suggested that the Herald only travel with about three other companions, and with her being a mage, warriors and rouges were a must. They'd picked up two new companions while in Val Royeaux as well, who also needed careful consideration. When at last Lady Montilyet opened the door, she smiled kindly, as she always did.

"Mistress Lavellan, how may I assist you? Have you made your decision?" Mae nodded eagerly.

"Yes, ma'am, I would like to pursue an alliance with the Rebel Mages at Redcliffe Castle. However, I am here to speak to you about the company I might keep when I depart. I've already asked Warden Constable Blackwall to tag along with me, and I was wondering if you had any advice on who else I should bring. I was thinking maybe I should give Sera a try, I haven't gotten to know her very well…and also, Lady Vivienne, though I know she is also a mage, as I am." Josephine nodded politely, gesturing toward the far corner of the room.

"The Grey Warden is a fine choice, Herald. Although I'm afraid you do not have two more options as you think you do. I've been conversing with a fellow mage here, who says he can help you infiltrate the castle. We'll have to consult Cullen, of course, but I think you'll find his company most useful." There was a chuckle from out the shadows, and a familiar mustached face stepped out to greet the elf, who bowed at the sight of her acquaintance.

"Ah, yes! I believe we met in Redcliffe's chantry. Dorian, is it?" He nodded, bowing in return with a flare of majesty that almost made her feel embarrassed. She wasn't near so graceful.

"I had a feeling you would remember me. I've got one of those faces." Dorian was full of himself, that was for sure. But Mae admired his confidence; his heart seemed to be in the right place. Before she could respond, Josephine piped up from beside of Dorian.

"If going after Magister Alexius is truly what you want to do, I suggest you take both Dorian and Solas with you. You'll need Dorian's knowledge of Alexius and Solas's knowledge of Arcane magic if you want any hope of making it out of that castle alive. I would not advise going without a rogue. There are a great many dungeons in Redcliffe Castle, and were you to get caught in one, Varric and Sera would the only ones skilled enough to assist you. You may wish to rescind your invitation to Ser Blackwall, I'm afraid his skills might be more suited elsewhere." Mae bit her lip hard, disappointment flooding her features. He'd seemed to be flattered by her offer, and she didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to explore the castle with him…whatever that was supposed to mean to her, she didn't really know. But her duty was to the inquisition…

"Oh, let her take her burly boy toy with her. I may not be a thief, but I could pick a lock with my eyes closed." Dorian insisted, returning the bright smile that suddenly broke across Namaae's face. Josephine sighed, shrugging her ruffled shoulders at the two of them.

"If you're certain…perhaps we should take this conversation to the War Room, no? Cullen, Cassandra, and Leliana should most like to hear this for themselves."

Meanwhile, while the Herald of Andraste was busy being berated to death in the War Room with her advisors, Blackwall was having a glass of bourbon and listening to the bard in the Tavern. Sera had plopped down beside him some time ago and was going on something awful about 'breeches', but amused as he was he wasn't paying her much mind. He'd been thinking about Mae, how her name, delicate and soft, sounded on his harsh tongue. How her skin had felt against his own this morning, how she'd been so coy with him. He was captivated by her. She sure had waited long enough to come and find him after he'd arrived, he'd half hoped she'd show up and drag him away the day he came. She was a busy woman though—he knew that. He was lucky to spend any time with her at all. He was ruminating on this when suddenly Sera piped up beside him.

"Hey you, Mr. Broody Beard, you thinking about that arse?" Blackwall shook his head, more than sure he hadn't heard her properly.

"Excuse me?" The rogue laughed, a loud, awful obnoxious laugh that seemed to bounce off the Tavern walls.

"You now…the herald thingy. I saw you ogling that tight arse of hers earlier. Champagne taste you've got, for a lumberjack looking fellow. Are you sure you wouldn't rather chat up the Ambassador? She's got all that arse and a better set of tits with a whoooole lot less elfy what-have-you. 10/10 would bang. Be better if she had horns though…woof." Blackwall blinked stupidly at her for a few moments before bursting into peels of painful laughter. He took a long sip of his drink and laughed again.

"Sweet Maker, what have they got you on? You talk like you've been kissing lyrium right off the lips of Templars." Sera chortled and scrunched up her nose.

"Ick, when's the last time you met a hot female Templar, am I right? Last one we've seen of those was Knight Captain Meredith in Kirkwall and she was on the shite end of psycho killer, that one. I think I'll stick with people, just people. Regular, boring, don't glow. You know the type." Blackwall smiled into his alcohol as he took another swig.

"We have to agree about Meredith…but I might like the ones the glow. At least one in particular." Sera giggled.

"Ha! I knew it, I knew you were after the Herald's dirty pillows. Let me know if she lets you touch 'em. I'd bet you good coin they're not the pillowy-est, I'll have to fondle Josie and let you know." And with that, the spritely little one bounced on off the bar stool and headed toward the door, the warden looking after her like he'd just seen a ghost. The people around here were among the craziest he'd ever met. The barmaid, Flissa, took Blackwall's empty glass and went to refill it right as the doors to the Tavern were thrown open wide once more. Speaking of crazy…in walked the storyteller. Varric walked in looking slightly sullen, pulling out the chair Sera had been sitting in only moments earlier and shoving his crossbow, Bianca, up on the table. Flissa shot him a look, but didn't say anything as the dwarf's gaze lingered on the warden.

"So, Hero, I hear you've officially replaced me on the journey to Redcliffe Castle. Hope they don't need a Magister shot full of arrows or anything." Varric was being sarcastic, but friendly, and Blackwall raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is that so? I'd apologize, but I've never been sorry to be fancied by a lady." Varric snorted.

"I ought to thank you. I got up to enough trouble between Hawke and Bartrand in Kirkwall. But between you and me, I'd throw you a coin or two if you made some notes for me while you're out there. I can't waaait to write about the grand tyranny of Magister Alexius." Varric said it with such a fervor and passion that Blackwall just had to take the bait.

"The 'grand tyranny', eh? Spoken like a true writer. If I were to take notes for you, what—" Blackwall was cut off when Namaae, Dorian, and Solas barged into the room, all packed up and ready to go.

"Well…there is your lady in waiting. I guess I'll get out of your beard so you can head on out. But here, take this journal in case you're interested. Never know what interesting things you might find when mages are involved…if Blondie taught me anything, it was that." Varric mumbled as he dismissed himself, throwing a little black journal at Blackwall as he did so.

"You ready to go?" Mae asked excitedly, watching as the warden tucked Varric's notebook into his armor delicately.

"For you, my lady? Always."

**Author's Note:**

> all characters but wee babies belong to Bioware


End file.
